


Ink Virus

by MsFantasy3



Series: Benicio's mafia family [1]
Category: Abel the rebel angel - Fandom, Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Gen, Rubberhose cartoons - Freeform, Toon Town, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsFantasy3/pseuds/MsFantasy3
Summary: When a simple heist goes topsy-turvy for both Abel the Rebel Angel and Mafia Boss Benicio, fate is against them. It's a race against the clock while the matter of life or death is placed in the hands of the mafia family.
Series: Benicio's mafia family [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1826161
Kudos: 5





	1. An Angel and A Demon Walked Into a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This is a fanfic of Bendy and the Ink Machine oc’s in collaboration with UnKnown294 (fanfiction.net)
> 
> Abel the rebel angel: by twisted-wind 
> 
> Benicio (Bendy) mod!boss: by thelostmoongazer 
> 
> Elymas: by animal-guardian 
> 
> My own OC’s (Gizmo the crow, Fonzy the fox, Luna the wolf, Deeralyn the roe deer, Diana the fairy and Jack the faun)

The day’s evening is quiet for Abel the Rebel Angel. It’s within the right amount for him to relax through while he spends the last several hours of another long exhausting day at the tavern. He’s the type that dislikes a whole bunch of guests taking their time through their loud chatterings; the bustling of toons coming and going through the doorway; even the celebratory clinking of glasses when payday comes rolling in gets a bit nerve-wracking on his drunken mind.

And judging by the lambent, yellow rays filtering from the streetlamps and through the windowpanes behind him - the fading ends hitting the back cabinets where liquor bottles and other items were stored - it won’t be long before the bar becomes either filled with obnoxious and flirtatious toons - who, in his opinion, would rather spend their nights in-between the liquor and the cosy, smooth bar music than to be miserably alone in their homes - or continue on in this nice and tranquil ambiance.

Abel currently sits at one of the chosen bar stools in one of his favored bars, the name ‘The Wishing Well’ having been remarkably familiarized in his mind - due to him spending so much time there - that he could call it a second home. The tavern’s one of the several solaces for him to wind down when a hectic day’s ordeals became too much. It lets him get the chance to give up some of his built-up mental stress - mostly thanks to a certain mob boss demon - in exchange for a bit of a substance reliever or two.

There was no one to draw their gun at their companion when drunkenly starting a heated argument. Nobody played foul at the far right corner of the tavern’s entrance where the entertainment area resides, tapping the ends of pool sticks against numbered balls and cheating with seemingly cool shots while shouts of praise clouded the air around them. Best of all, no toons have pestered him. Their too-close-for-comfort faces and drunken demeanors adorning them like masquerade masks made him uneasy and annoyed. 

Alongside those masks came with the God-awful stench of cocktail-mixed, alcoholic scents and their owner’s shameless complaints about their measly problems in their daily Toon Town lives. There was no easy way of alleviating debauchery-based headaches even after he leaves.

He relishes these tranquil atmospheres, however, and it shows by having two, little pull-ups on ivory mouth corners presenting themselves. The thought of it being this nice and not having those experiences again flew into his thought process like a striking bolt of lightning.

It was instantly squashed by a metaphorical shoe.

A barely heard huff of dull amusement escapes his ounce of a smile. The notion wasn’t a simple wish that the night sky can grant, no matter how childish that may sound.

Submissively enjoying a shot of whiskey that’s taking care of a pair of floating, half-melted ice cubes in his right hand, Abel lifts said item to his lips. He lets the alcohol smoothly trickle down his throat until there was nothing left but the clinking ice idling behind its circular prison, a pleasurable burning sensation accompanying the taste. The glass is then settled back down with a dull thunk to the mahogany counter, a very thin sheen of condensation curtaining the object’s surface. The chill that it produces lightly kisses his fingers.

In the other, wedged betwixt his index and middle fingers is a thick cigar, possibly from the Cuban country. The foot hangs over an ashtray while a small pile of ash accumulates in it, the tobacco stick further reducing in length as time went on. Lips meet the cap; next, an inhale; lastly, a smoke ring is produced, gradually floating in the air until fading out of existence.

As he absent-mindedly listens to the mellowed gospel tune being carried out by the Crosley Cathedral-styled radio from its perch on the curved centerpiece, Abel can pick up on the bartender’s clip-clopping hooves faintly go about the place, his footfalls not hurried and heavied from exertion, as per usual; they’re allayed by the building’s serene mood. The movement was made more evident by the clunking thunks produced from a few variations of alcoholic-filled bottles being deposited at one of the booths to the far left from Abel’s seat. They became further noticeable in his direction as they went away from the other customers.

He glances up from the empty shot glass when the bar flap lets out a tinny squeak. Coming into his line of sight is the bartender and best friend himself: Elymas the Demon.

"Is everything to your liking, mate?" Elymas asks, putting away the serving dish under the bar counter - no doubt having compartments for easier access. He then pulls out a pint glass with a slightly used rag and starts cleaning the inside of its surface.

The rebel angel, meanwhile, scans the many branded assortments being kept at the back wall with a cursory glance, inhaling another cloud of the cigar’s contents into his lungs. Each container that stands proudly in front of the large pane came in all varying shapes and sizes, colors and neutrals, and many company names claiming them as their own.

Smoke slithers above his head as the toon angel replies. “Yeah, couldn’t have it any better...”

For a moment, a beat of silence is shared between the two.

A thought passes through Abel’s head, his face turning to one of questioning. “Ye wanna know somethin’, Elymas?” He points the end of his cigar at an eyebrow-raised Elymas, more bits of ash falling off the tip and landing on the counter. “It's been pretty quiet here lately...” Both his brows pinch in the middle of his face as he looks straight at his friend, a sense of foreboding coating over his next sentence. “I’ve not seen Benicio for a while... Know anythin’?”

Elymas shrugs his light-blue-furred shoulders, a downward corner tilt of his lips presenting itself as he wipes away the fallen ash. It’s as if he, too, either doesn’t know the mob boss’s whereabouts himself or knows what’s about to happen next. It was the former. “Couldn’t tell you if I could, Abel.” His palliative, crooner’s voice carries on in his answer. “I have not seen the chap since a few days ago after the Dragon’s Den Heist went into shambles.”

Abel supplies him a noncommittal hum, planting an elbow on the countertop and settling his head onto his palm.

Two days before yesterday, Benicio had found the final lead in the Dragon’s Den Heist. For about a few months, it was a major one that had him tracking its location towards an elusive studio on the outskirts of Toon Town. The mob boss had been following rumors and snippets from his henchmen those long weeks, some leading to dead ends that left him frustrated and nearly shooting someone in the head with his favored gun while other ones had him go around town in hasty excitement.

It wasn’t until four days ago that he had notified Abel to visit him at another one of their specific bar hotspots. Once there, he wanted the angel to join him in the escapade via his car, which he had apprehensively declined and had lost in the transaction. Abel remembers Benicio saying that several of Gizmo’s colleagues had caught wind of many shipment trucks - no doubt carrying crates full of illegal ink - traveling through unfamiliar streets and that only at night is when everyone goes home out of fear of staying within the studio until sunrise.

Let’s just say, when they had gotten there and went to perform the robbery, he opts to not go back to that studio ever again. A nearly torn-off wing and bite marks from multiple sharp-tooth mouths aren’t worth the illegal foreign ink.

A small, misty silence goes over the two friends once more. Even then, while the place still stays in a tranquil state, it can be shattered in an instant.

As if on cue, the transom, wooden door gets unexpectedly kicked wide open, banging against the left side of the bar’s entryway that’s then followed by a loud smack. Abel and Elymas, along with the few remaining visitors, all jump and tense in their seats at the sudden noises.

In a span of under a minute, Abel’s reflexes got the better of him when he backhands the shot glass - the barkeeper having to duck under the countertop to avoid being smacked in the face as it soars over his head. The angel cringes, his shoulders jerking up a bit, just as he witnesses the item colliding against the backdrop. Shattering follows suit and Abel winces more from the harsh sound that it creates, watching as another broken glass piece drops off and clinks upon landing.

Elymas, for his part, carefully rises and turns around towards the impact’s creation, his friend watching him out of the corner of his eyes with shock written over his face as he, too, witnessed the results unfold. A small-to-medium-sized spider web is etched across the backdrop mirror, several pieces of various reflective shapes having gone missing from their original positions. They leave behind a gaping hole in their wake. Not realizing that one of his legs had risen, Elymas places it back down and winces upon hearing something else under his hoof other than hardwood. He glances down, spotting both bits of the shot glass intermingling with the mirror shards. A large piece lies halfway underneath his hoof.

The demon bartender turned his head and, with eyelids cast partially low, sends an ‘Are you serious?’ expression at the rebel angel.

Abel, whose face turns from utter shock to one of embarrassment, responds back with grey blushed cheeks and a sheepish grin. Simultaneously rubbing the back of his head, tussling a bit of light-blue hair in the process, the failed attempt of a concealed, nervous chuckle slips into the open. “I’ll, uh... help pay for that…” The halo above his head dribbles almost to his hair while stiff wings fold tentatively close to his sides.

Elymas stares at Abel with a polite askance across his facial features for a few seconds longer. Crossing his arms over his chest, Abel’s best friend shakes his head. He wasn’t angry, just a bit disappointed.

Abel’s shoulders and wings droop at that reaction.

The barman then sighs quietly like the curse he sets loose, relaxes his posture so that it nearly resembles a stalwart servant, and switches towards a nod with acceptance gracing his smile. “Alright. Please, get the payment ready by the end of the week.” He can deal with replacing the mirror - it was in need of being removed anyway - and buying another shot glass wasn’t really a big deal.

With that being said, Abel reflects the expression back, easing most of the guilt-ridden tension off of himself.

Before the awkwardness awakens, Elymas stoops out of sight so that he can begin the task of cleaning up the fallen shards, crouching towards the bottom row of cabinets, and opening up one of them to retrieve a dustpan and brush broom. An unexpected, inappropriate giggle rings through the air and the sudden remembrance of how the accident happened in the first place has Elymas instantly popping back up, both objects gripped tightly at the handles by his sides. Both bartender and angel focus their respective irritated glares towards whoever caused the door to slam open, Abel having to swivel around in his seat beforehand.

In the doorway stands the very cartoon demon himself. A proximal, face-splitting grin is plastered across his black and white face for all to witness, his merriment pie-cut eyes immediately locking onto the barkeep and rebel angel. He’s in his usual attire that mainly consists of a classic, button-down, white shirt - the sleeves always rolled up to his elbows while the red bowtie accented the collar region - black suspenders that held up a pair of tan slacks, and black casual shoes. Practically the whole “mob” shebang, if you imagine it.

Benicio advances into the establishment with a strut in his steps, a sinister, yet cocky, atmosphere acting as his shield. You didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to see that something exciting is on the mafia leader's mind like a spirit trickster’s about to target someone via pranking them. His thin, spear-tipped tail ticks in a docile sway behind him.

“Oh boy, speak of the Devil…” Abel mutters to himself, rolling his eyes.

“And he shall appear.” Elymas finishes the rebel angel’s sentence with a chirp and playful smirk that feigns innocence.

Abel, in return, does a facepalm, groaning at the bad attempt of a pun. He can hear his friend chuckle quietly, amusement coated into it.The chuckles fade to nothing and the two look back towards the arrivals. They immediately understand that Benicio didn’t come alone.

Trailing a step behind him is a toon resembling a crow. A long, grey trenchcoat’s worn over his sleeveless, charcoal-feathered body. The bottom of the hem nearly drags off the floor as he gently shuts the door, then quickly catches up to the demon’s side. Tied around his neck is a khaki green neckerchief that holds no designs through its material. To complete the crow’s features, a black fedora neatly rests on top of his head with a white stripe surrounding the headwear. He gives the two an eggshell-beaked smile, which, to only Elymas’s acknowledgment, goes unnoticed.

Almost in the same timespan, as quickly as the amusement came, it gets doused by displeasure due to the unforeseen, destructive demon showing up at the tavern. He blames the coincidence on a triggered jinx. A sigh escapes the bartender’s lips once more, index and thumb pinching the fold between closed eyes. When the demon and crow came into the separate duo’s proximity, he lets it go and displays the same ‘Are you serious?’ expression to the two toons.

“My apologies, gentlemen. I must have misplaced the sign on the door that says: ‘Let’s Destroy Elymas’s Bar Happy Hour’.” Mellowed peevishness pipes itself through dry words. He then shoots a glare towards Benicio. “And, Benicio, for the last time, you can’t just go and kick in people's doors like that!”

The hand with the brush broom gestures towards the transom door, the other carrying the dustpan taking place on his hip. The other mafia members’ heads follow the outstretched hand’s direction and they witness a hole - having been created by the brass knob - revealing itself under the skewed cork message board. Said board was about to collapse onto the closest booth.

They swivel their heads back just as Elymas’s arm drops and shoulders sag, the previous tones now taking on renouncement as he speaks. “Who is going to pay for the damage this time...?”

The demon toon’s brain must have been in Lala Land for too long, Abel assumes as he shoots Benicio an arched eyebrow. He tells himself that the other may have had cracked his noggin one too many times from something on his way to the tavern. Might have been all that reckless driving finally catching up to him...

Pie-esque eyes blink out of their dreamy delight and into confusion when meeting Elymas’s narrower ones, the grin dropping a centimeter. “Huh, wha-?” He gives himself seconds to get out of his head and come up with a reply before snapping his gloved fingers and reforming his cheery expression. “Oh, right!” The look Benicio sends to the crow is one of expectancy when he delivers the order. “Gizmo, pay the man, would ya?”

Obeying the topmost man of the mafia family, Gizmo nods and swivels his sights towards his inner right pocket of the trench coat. Proceeding in pulling his leather wallet out of the inner pouch, the crow opens the side slit and picks out several slips of cash, then forks them over to Elymas. The wallet snaps shut and gets slipped back into the aforementioned slot as the barkeeper inserts the cash in his tailcoat’s breast pocket.

Satisfied with the transaction, Benicio makes an akimbo while his shoulders slack with blithe. “There! Happy now, barkeep?”

“For now...” Elymas replies, a compliant nature blanketing over clipped speech. A quiet sigh flows out of his nostrils before his gaze goes towards Gizmo. “I will be requiring your services for a moment.” The response he gets from the crow is a halfhearted shrug. Elymas then firmly glances at the opposite duo. “Gentlemen, if you two will excuse us...”

Neither of them saying anything, both rebel angel and demon mob boss watch on as Elymas exits through the flap again. A purposeful expression covers over the demon barkeep’s face, sharing a similarity in his strides while he leads Gizmo towards the dented wall and possibly unhinged doorway.

When they were out of their sights, Abel pivots his head back towards the demon just before Benicio slides right next to him, intending to give him a friendly pat. Instead, the other just harshly slaps his hand in-between his shoulder blades for a total of three times. The angel nearly topples out of his seat from the force of each one, a low grunt slipping out of his slight clenched teeth when reaching the last one.

“So, Angel Face, how’s it goin’?” The winning grin on his face is a crooked right while his New Yorker voice adopts a sing-songy tone.

Righting himself immediately by using the countertop as support, Abel sends Benicio an unamused glare, letting his right arm lay across the bar counter with his hand hanging off the edge. The other hand rubs gently at the abused spot. “Everythin’ was just fine ‘n dandy ‘til a moment ago...” The angel’s southern drawl and wary gaze were his replies to the mob boss, wishing that he can be left alone with just the cigar once more.

Benicio just didn’t pick up on the apathetic undertone or wasn’t really bothered by the underlined hint in the slightest. Either way, he slides onto the stool next to Abel’s right and faces the angel while mimicking his posture. “In that case, it’s a good thing I’m here!” His thumb regards himself, then switches to his index towards Abel as he declares, “I have somethin’ that might cheer ya up!”

An eyebrow is raised as the left arm drops onto his lap. “Is that so?” The tone in Abel’s voice was mostly cautious, yet held a tendril of interest.

Benicio grows close to the left side of Abel’s head until his fanged mouth is next to an absent ear, his voice low enough for only them to hear. “Get a load of this: Gizmo has somethin’ interestin’ to report!” It’s as if the demon was a kid telling the other a deep and creepy secret. “It’d be the easiest gravy yet!” An excited snicker flutters through grinning teeth.

A meager uneasiness starts to develop in Abel’s chest, tricking his mind into thinking that it’s another foreboding sensation as he unintentionally holds his breath. When it comes to the demon plotting for a heist, the sensation usually comes to warn him ahead of time. Eight times out of ten, it’s correct in its prediction.

Benicio moves away just as quickly as he was near, straighten posture taking over by confident laidbackness. If it were possible, the corners of his lips stretch more from their crooked grin into one of relaxed anticipation while his arms cross over his chest. “So, whaddya say? Ya up for ‘nother robbery?” His tail shapes itself into a question mark. Whether it did the action intentionally or not is up to the imagination.

Abel can silently breathe again, even though the air had a smokey tinge to it. Yet, the inkling perception hadn’t disappeared within the quiet exhale. “I don’t know…” His eyes move away from the demon in faux disinterest, trying to get rid of the rousing suspense out of his system. “I was just gettin’ into the peace ‘n quiet.” They come back to Benicio with a nonchalant shrug accompanying them. “Sorta like a vacation, ye know...?”

“Oh, c’mon! It’s a simple job!” The demon frowns, exaggeration holding onto no boundaries as he does an akimbo. The demon then lets them flop down and points a finger-gun at Abel. The grin and sing-songy tune make their way back through his next dialogue. “Ya can even have a week’s off without me rufflin’ ya feathers afterward!”

Abel’s interest, no matter how much he squished it down, was as piqued as he lets on, with or without the smidgen bribery tactic installed.

By then, Gizmo had dealt with the affairs between him and Elymas and now has rejoined his boss’s side once more, taking the stool behind Benicio at the curvature portion. For the bartender, he goes back on the other side of the counter, reclaims both the dustpan and brush broom, and crouches out of sight to, once again, resume his task of cleaning up the broken glass pieces.

Benicio rotates in his seat and addresses the cartoon crow again. “Tell ‘im what ya told me, Gizmo! Maybe that’ll convince ‘im!”

Gizmo nods at his boss and leans over the counter to face the angel. “There’s this craic goin’ around Toon Town lately.” He starts off, a warbling lilt coming through his Irish dialect. “Almost everybody’s talkin’ about it. Apparently, there’s an animation studio havin’ been recently caught on fire. It’s still intact, of course, but the buildin’ is severely damaged. The owners of the place scavenged everythin’ that wasn’t destroyed and hid them in a secluded storage space until their studio’s fully rebuilt. There be a lot of crates with fierce ink that had survived the fire and, even as we speak, are in said storage space.”

The angel thinks through the information for a moment, doubt’s presence having to push itself in front of temptation’s approach. “That does sound interestin’... But, as ye done told, it’s jus’ a rumor.” A cautionary tone comes into play again. “We don’t even know where the exact location of this storage is, to begin with.”

“‘Bout that…” Benicio butts in. “We’d gotten an anonymous tip from someone earlier. I sent our newbie scout, Diana, on a reconnaissance mission and she had confirmed the whereabouts of the storage area. She also said it’s basically in the middle of nowhere and that there didn’t even appear to be any security ‘round the place.”

Abel quirks an eyebrow towards the mob boss. “Isn’t that strange though? Who’d leave all their stuff unguarded like that?” His inquiries were thickly doused in skepticism. “Doesn’t that even raise any suspicions to ye?” The last question had his voice rise an octave higher.

“Oh, lighten up, Halo Head!” The demon boss reassures as he pats twice on Abel’s left shoulder, taking note of the small flinches when applying them. “They probably needin’ all their funds to repair their studio and had blown the rest for their security!”

The amount of semi-denseness within Benicio’s words didn’t lessen Abel’s suspicions nor the dumbfounded, incredulous look on his face. Out of the corners of one eye, Gizmo reflects a measured cringe expression that includes similar body language at the mob boss, to which is another action going unnoticed. In the other, Elymas has his brows knitted together, watching over this conversation in a perplexed manner.

“Yer a God-awful, cattywampus Yankee sometimes, Demon…” Abel manages to utter out.

Benicio lets go of the shoulder and shrugs. “Don’t know what ya completely mean, but thanks anyway!” He then leans forward to where he perches both elbows onto his knees and rests his titled head on top of laced fingers. “Anyway, is it so hard to accept that it’s an EASY job for once...?” An inquisitive brow shoots up, his voice taking in a faint and cajoling timbre. Yet, while the other toon couldn’t place his finger on it, that mysterious smirk Benicio dons may have spoken something otherwise.

Abel’s quiet response welcomes him and the silence swells between them to the point where Benicio’s nonchalant thoughts gradually become a mildly anxious cesspool, the smirk falling down into a nervous frown. The mob boss views the rebel angel’s face adopting a thoughtful character - no doubt sifting through the information in his mind until finalizing the material towards a conclusive answer - while taking hold of his nearly unattended cigar and inhaling some of its contents.

The mob boss unclasps his hands, straightens his posture once more, and shifts it so that he goes back to leaning against the countertop with the addition of crossing a leg over the other. “I’ll buy ya another drink then.” Another attempt at bribery comes forth, the frown practically wiping itself off into one of his usual bravados. “It’s on me this time.”

And as the demon toon raises a hand just after Elymas rises back up and takes notice of it, Abel inconspicuously blows a ring of smoke above the other’s head. He shares his amusement towards the oblivious mafia boss by letting a tiny smirk play off his lips but doesn’t let the snickering slip out upon witnessing the other now sporting a smokey halo adorning his horns.

After dumping the glass shards into the trash bin in a lower cubbyhole and putting away the small broom and dustpan in a mid-high one, Elymas tilts forward to take a few shot glasses out from their slot. Just out of his upper peripheral vision, he nearly misses the comical action taking place between demon and angel. Merriment takes the form of a smile as he sets the trio objects down in front of them, noticing that Gizmo is matching his expression to a ‘T’. He concludes that the crow’s also enjoying the little scene between the two friends. Then, turning around and grabbing both green and brown-tinted bottles, Elymas sets one of them down before placing the free hand over his mouth so that he can keep himself from laughing out loud.

The demon barkeeper couldn’t hide the fact that his shoulders gave out the barest hints of bounciness.

He doesn’t want to anger Benicio by laughing at him; mostly because it was due to him being one of his most loyal customers. That, and being the gracious individual who gave him ownership towards ‘The Wishing Well’ after being fired from his previous job at ‘Toon Palace’. On the other hand, through their time and mutually established friendship, he’s able to slacken the worrisome conjectures towards angering the demon too much via learning. An expression of melancholy and serene nostalgia takes merriment’s place on his face as he turns his head and sees his friend, shoulders ceasing their bounciness.

At a time where things were at their weakest limits and the grand occasions dwindled into a drought, he had thought that he was endeavoring to be a good samaritan when helping Abel out in his homelessness situation. From his initial thoughts, by letting the angel into the establishment, the bartender can let him secretly siphon off whatever leftover meals and beverages from paying customers and assist the rebel in taking cover under his previous boss’s noses. Both of them, during the time, had thought that they were given ample time to plan out their next motives in moving through life’s monopoly once Elymas had scrounged up enough cash to keep them going.

It wasn’t until then that they were found out just as they nearly came to the stopping point.

Elymas had never expected to be fired after the several attempts were made - he had thought that it could’ve gone on longer than possible, but that was just wishful thinking on his part - nor did he find himself winding up jobless during one of the country’s fading points in history. However, in spite of the karmic turn of events, he never once blamed Abel for their misfortunes and neither himself for their justifiable operations. And from those efforts, they were lead towards a lifestyle that has benefited them both more than previous times.

The fellow who gifted them their present lifestyles was none other than Benicio himself.

And although one is overly zealous - even borderline irresponsible in some situations - for his liking and the other being compliant enough to take on the demon’s dangerous heists with or without his consent, by meeting and spending time with these two toons, the bartender’s life had gotten a bit more hectic than the usual banters. And he’s not going to willingly give up this new chance at a better life at any point in time.

When Elymas turns fully around, settles the bottle down next to the shot glasses, and leans his upper half onto the bar top, the mob boss takes note of the barkeep’s face. He quirks an eyebrow, a budding concern taking life and root in his mind. It’s not an everyday occurrence to witness the bartender wearing such an attitude. What were the troubling thoughts swirling within Elymas’s noggin that gives him it? The question about what was on the other’s mind nestles itself contently at the tip of his tongue.

Before Benicio can set it loose, however, a wisp of a grey tendril catches his attention as it floats just out of his eyesight. They were immediately lead towards the crown of his head. A thin, writhing ring made of smoke greets him, its home over his horns taking in a lazy manner. He doesn’t see the look evaporating back into amusement. Humorous, unamused askance claims its stake on his face - his pursed lips not helping him not look like an ill-tempered child - as the head of the mafia makes the halo dissipate with a few waves of a hand. He shoots the same look towards the snickering angel while simultaneously almost not hearing the reply.

“Alright, demon.” A light smirk graces Abel’s face. “Since ye have me as happy as a dead pig in the sunshine...” The rebel angel extends his right hand towards Benicio. “It looks like ye got yerself a deal.”

All three toons’ faces show startled, bordering on astonished, expressions upon hearing Abel’s unhesitant answer.

Abel looks right back at them with an inquisitive one of his own, extended hand easing a little. “What? Why’re ye guys lookin’ at me like that?”

More often than not, the angel would put up a complaint with him first when dealing with robberies, especially towards ones that involve either toon potentially getting injured in the smuggling process. By Benicio’s account, most of the received injuries that they’ve racked up over the years, even though nearly all of their heists turned out to be deathtraps, is at a near balance. Hell, the number may be in the hundreds by now since the start of 1932; however, he had lost count for a couple of years now. In his opinion, going through that many in a near decade’s span isn’t really a big problem and none of them had hurt anybody so far - unless their excursions were discussed with the other mob families, then that’s a different story.

For Abel to not outright protest to this particular heist, despite the hesitation and suspicion that he took upon earlier... Maybe he’d either changed his mind, was in a better mood than he’d thought earlier, or was something else at play here? ...Welp, either way, he’s not gonna complain about it! It’s a rare opportunity and he’s gonna snatch it! He can just shove these questions aside and think about them later.

Despite the ever-present foreboding presence lurking around them, the response gets the demon boss outright grinning. “Eh, it’s nothin’ to worry ‘bout, Cherub!”

He grabs ahold of the angel’s outstretched hand and firmly shakes it. Though a bit more pressure is filtered into the grip, the message of his unappreciation towards the smoke halo has been sent. And although the cheeky smirk on Abel’s face widens a tad bit, the message was clearly acknowledged. He doesn’t regret doing it, as clearly seen on his face.

They break the handshake and relax their sides against the tavern counter, the rising banterous atmosphere coming back in full swing.

Taking a swig at his nearly disintegrated cigar, Abel points his index, said item pinched between thumb and middle, at the mob boss. “Still gettin’ that week’s worth off though, Benicio. Better remember it!” He then mutters out an “Unlike the other times ye, oh so, “remembered”...” as he sets the item back in the tray.

“Right, right…!” Benicio waves a nonchalant hand back and forth as if he’s swatting a nagging fly away, shooting a look that gave Abel the impression of a sneaky raccoon. “I’ll definitely remember this time!” He gestures to himself with both hands. “And, y’know me! I’m the type of guy who can remember…” He trails off, looking towards another direction before quickly finding the right words. “... really important stuff!” He directs a sideways thumb at the barman, getting a wide-eye look straight back at him. “Like that time when Elymas kept that excess ink from one of our heists ‘bout nearly a half a year ago in the back storage space?” It came out as more of a weak question than a remark.

A subtle, accusatory glare with a side of indignance comes forth. “Need I remind you that you had never come back nor retrieved said crates until the beginning of February of this year -”

“That was one time, Elymas!” He slaps a hand onto the counter while simultaneously having his other one raise an emphasizing index finger. The thump gets both crow and angel tense in their seats. At the same time, it makes the bartender freeze in place. “I did come back to get them with Gizmo, Fonzy, and Boris, didn’t I?!” Out of the corner of his eye, Gizmo nods in confirmation.

His body slowly relaxing, an inquisitive brow rises up on said demon bartender’s face.

A huff escapes as Benicio melodramatically rolls his eyes at Elymas’s expression. Shoulders slumped forward in renouncement while arms became slack on the countertop and hands balling up into a loose clench. “Okay, fine! I did forget ‘bout ‘em until February and there were, of course, multiple times where I’ve forgotten about other things...” The glum gaze didn’t make himself resemble a child! That’d be utterly ridiculous! But, the resilient eyebrow on the barman’s face led him into making the idiotic expression.

“Yet, you still have the audacity to be forgetful sometimes...” The other holds back a sigh.

“But, can ya really blame me, barkeep?” He idly shrugs, features smothering out the pout. “I had my neck up to here -” A flat hand meets the halfway mark of his invisible neck. “- with drownin’ under the other two heist projects! Barely slept a wink from all the plannin’, runnin’ ‘bout, and new info pilin’ up for ‘em!” Left palm then upturned on a now supporting elbow, it sweeps towards Elymas. “Surely, ya can understand where I’m goin’ with this…?”

Elymas lets several seconds run wild, having to come up with a reasonable response to Benicio’s question. A reluctant sigh shoves its way out before he could speak, closed eyes accompanying it. He’s got him there... “I do.” Terse seriousness shades itself under the assent expression.

Eyelids curtaining back open, they lay a blanket of empathetic understanding upon Benicio’s being. Memories of his observations towards the demon boss throughout those seemingly lengthy weeks came back up for the briefest of moments from where he had hidden them.

He had surreptitiously watched Benicio coming into the tavern one afternoon as he made his rounds, taking small glances of him sporting a slumped gait with a near wrinkling appearance. Tired mutters and mumbles that involved said plans were thrown out of his mouth while having no care in keeping his voice low to a minimum from passing customers. Let’s just say, the boss was irritated enough to nearly beat someone half to death with his fists if provoked a lot.

At another point, when the bartender had visited headquarters just before the second heist began, he had gone to see how everyone had faired during the first one. Several of the henchmen were in high spirits, either drinking away, conversing, or doing a card game at the elongated table, while the rest went off to rest in the Sleeping Quarters. Asking if any of them had seen the mob boss, all he got were fingers and thumbs pointing towards the hallway. One of them even piped up, saying that if anyone needed him, he’d be in his office. Turns out, Elymas had found Benicio in the Infirmary instead, snoozing away on the furthest bed from the entrance with the curtain drawn out.

In conclusion, seeing one of his companions in the approximate range of collapse due to overworked fatigue isn’t a pleasant thing to imagine, nor witness, no matter how many times it happens.

To relieve the unraveled tension from the air, he adds in: “And, if I remember correctly, I believe you were nearly knackered until you’ve almost smothered your face in a pillow at Headquarters.”

The comment riles a chuckle out of Abel. “I think he may have had done so! Was goin’ to his office that mornin’ until I heard him snorin’ up a storm in the Infirmary. I’ve found him lookin’ like a drunk who’s had one too many shot glasses in his system. Almost got pissed when he tried puttin’ a bullet in my head as I was rousin’ him, but his slurrin’ speech and flounderin’ about through the place made the rest of my mornin’ better!”

Bewilderment overwrites Benicio’s face after he almost whiplashes his head towards the angel. “That was ya, Halo Head?! I could’ve blown ya head right off ya shoulders for doin’ that!” He wasn’t, at all, mad at Abel. In fact, a mixture of crestfallen dread and concern washes over him like a tidal wave and it hits him straight at chest level. He couldn’t help being a frequent light sleeper when you’re a distinguished mob boss.

All he could remember was: One second, he’s having to bear with bleary eyes and drowsiness stuffed into his head. Then, on the next one, he was thinking about getting killed by someone from a different mafia party upon seeing a hazed figure leaning over him with one hand stretched out, looking as if they wanted to grab him. Muscle memory assisted him in swiftly extracting his secondary gun and, before either of them knew it, the end of the barrel was pointed at the other’s suppose head until his vision cleared up and his head lost the packed cotton.

“But, ye didn’t, Horn Head...” Abel’s smirk is minute as he reassures the demon, sweeping his hands out - perhaps a little too dramatically - when gesturing to himself. “I’m still here, ink ‘n all!” A short chuckle - this time, a lighter one that can push away clouds in an instant.

Very much pacified by the angel’s answer, the mob boss’s body sags from its short-lived tenseness.

A small frown shows up next to replace the friendly appearance. “Anyway, on a more serious note…” Abel gives a glare that traipsed on cautionary’s rope. The concern behind it, however, still broke through it. “I do mean it, Bossman. Absolutely mean it. Yer buffoonery can only be held back so much ‘til it all crumbles apart. When that day comes, one of us’s gonna go down and won’t come back up again.”

Despite wanting to say something light-heartedly, Benicio keeps Abel’s reprimanding words as a mental note. “Aw, are ya startin’ to go soft on me now, Angel Face…?” The teasing and simpering glint in the boss’s eye and the tone he spoke in got the angel squinting at him. As to emphasize it, he light-heartedly shoves a palm against the angel’s right shoulder while chuckling bemusingly towards Abel’s admonishment.

Abel scoffs. “Keep dreamin’ that and it may come true for ye.” Was what the demon gets in return.

They both chuckle at their own silly displays of bantering and open-mindedness, distilling the serious ambiance within the air.

The demon’s pie-cut eyes and smile then drop their hold on their nonchalant cheekiness and shifts them over to a fond sincerity. “Y’know I can take care of myself. No need to have any mother hens on me at all times.” As an afterthought, he adds in: “Besides, I’m a mafia boss! Danger’s my middle name!”

“I thought it was -”

A swift hand shoves itself over Abel’s mouth before he can go on speaking. 

“L-Let’s just start celebratin’ a lil’ now, alright, Angel Face?” Although Benicio shows a toothy smirk, the tentative nervousness through his chastising glare and tone says otherwise. Sweeping the expression away, the mafia head puts on a chipper one when he swivels his sights between the crow and demon bartender. “Gizmo? Elymas? Ya both in?”

He gets another nod from Gizmo, but a shake from the barman.

Shrugging, he raises the shot glass to the air and exclaims, “Then, drinks’re on me, men!”

And celebrate, they did.


	2. Life’s Calm Before the Storm

During the rest of the hours before closing time, it was just the four of them left to occupy the space after the last customer went out at around 11 o’clock.

Despite Elymas not participating in drinking with the other toons due to him still being clocked in until 12 and consuming alcohol while working wasn’t allowed, the angel and demon continued their jawing conversations with shot glasses in hand, catching up on important and non-important things in their spare time away from their jobs. Although Gizmo and Elymas would throw in their two cents and conjectures now and then, the trail of banter, laughter, and whatever else gets thrown into the concoction is mainly lead by the mob boss and angel.

It wasn’t until a little later that Abel is stealing a glance at the clock, squinting through fuzzy, heavy-lidded eyes while trying to make out where the clock’s arms are pointing at. He sees them aimed at 11:35 respectively.

A quiet, audible moan escapes his throat when he realizes that it’s getting late into the night, an additional burning sensation roused in the organic pipe. His head comically thunks against the bar counter, ignoring the slight pain taken to his forehead. The angel has been slumping against the counter, listing towards the left after having about 3 or four shots consumed. By now, thanks to the drinks in his system, both sets of limbs felt like lead in his body, one arm curled around his faceplanted head while the other hangs loosely off its socket.

A short stretch of silence wafts through the quiet conversationalists before Abel wobbly lifts his head back up, right-turning it so that his drooping gaze falls on the mafia boss. “So, uh... what’s the plan now, Bossman...?” The rebel angel mumbles out while grabbing one of the bottles and tipping the liquid into his glass.

The cartoon demon follows the rebel’s lead on the drinking part, then stares at his now empty one as he relays the scheduled time. “Tomorrow evenin’. 10 P.M. Headquarters.” His eyes nonchalantly shift towards the rebel angel, a cheeky smile spreading across his face. “When ya get there, we’ll be takin’ my car.”

Abel erects from his seat at the mentioning of said vehicle and clenches his fists by his sides, wings puffing out a bit. The action gets both the crow’s and the bartender’s attention.

Flummox and acknowledged apprehensiveness is apparent through the rebel’s rigid being, already coming up with different and dangerous scenarios through his mind. “Ho-oh, no!” He unclenches both hands, comically swiping his arms diagonally up and down in ‘X’ formations as if he was dicing vegetables in the air, all the while saying his gainsaid. “No, no, no, no, NO! Nu-uh!” A finger points at the mob boss. “One time I was in that car of yers, ye drove the thing in the Lune River!”

And as the angel toon intoxicatedly rants on about the Flying Fish Filch escapade, Benicio just idly sits with an entertained smirk.

Gizmo stares at the drunk in a perturbed fashion while Elymas semi-ignores the ordeal, cleaning up the areas that needed to be cleaned.

While recalling the enjoyable recollection - and, at the same time, slightly listening - the demon takes and tips the contents from one of the bottles into the empty shot glass. He chuckles when the part where Abel gets fish-slapped by three of the goons while he just leans against a cement pillar comes up. Seconds after the glass became nearly full, another sip is taken out of it.

Abel, having finished with his rant, breaths in a bit more deeply before going back into the slumping position again. He places his head on top of his left arm, cheek smooshed against it. “Why don’t I reckon us flyin’ there instead...? It’d be much faster that way.” The dopy face that he presents made Benicio want to get his camera out and snap it for blackmail material.

Said demon chokes a little on his whiskey. His head whiplashes towards the angel, eyes full of wide-eyed incredulousness. “NEVER!” An accusing glare comes in next. “I haven’t forgotten that time ya flew us up to the highest level of The Morningstar Casino, only to leave me hangin’ on one of their outdoor lamps for nearly half the day! I still have cramps in my arms an’ legs sometimes from it!”

Abel then full-on laughs from the reply, bending backward and slapping a thigh as he remembers Benicio begging the rebel to get him down when coming back for him. Leaning frontward, he braces a right hand on his kneecap, trying and failing a bit to regain his breath. A broad grin is adopted when he faces the mafia boss, wiping a small tear away with a left finger. “Thanks, for remindin’ me of that!”

Benicio groans, sending a heated glare and a scowl at the drunken angel.

“Yer face…” He chortles out. “While ye were hangin’ from... that lamp pole... was amazin’ to witness!” Another bout of laughter overtakes him. This time, it has the angel keeling over, having to brace the counter to prevent himself from falling off the stool.

What happens next has neither of them expecting it. All three toons jump when a white-gloved fist hits and creates a loud thunk on the bar top, causing both the rebel to halt his boisterous merriment and the glasses and bottles to rattle in their places. They all swivel their heads towards the toon crow, eliciting a small, crawling shudder down their backs.

The expression on Gizmo’s face speaks deeply of peevishness - a sight that rarely shows itself towards any of them - and its sharpness is mostly directed at Abel. “Ye done ridiculin' te boss yet, laddie...?”

The crow gets up from his seat, taking several steps until he’s right in front of the rebel angel. Not minding the height variance, he leans into Abel’s face with his own, close enough to where there’s a couple of inches in-between them.

The other’s narrowed eyes, fierce with a fire of loyalty and protectiveness, coupled with both his fists trembling slightly by his sides, tells the angel that he should back off while he still can. The truth is, he doesn’t want to fight the crow if he could help it. Reasons why is because Gizmo isn’t a drunken stranger that annoys him, nor is he a close friend. He isn’t gonna fight the crow out of a foolish, obnoxious, puppy-dog loyalty just because of his out-of-boundary actions with Benicio. The drunkenness, he can say sorry for, but he ain’t gonna apologize for his friendliness towards the mob boss.

To lessen the steadily, brewing flame, even by a degree, the rebel angel delivers a couple of slow, understanding nods.

Despite Gizmo’s gait having fewer feathers ruffled, it doesn’t take away the challenging stare nor does he say anything about wanting an apology. “Good... ‘cause, even after everythin' he's done fer us, ye still have te gal to laugh at ‘im an’ actin’ te maggot.” His scowl deepens as the accent gets a bit more pronounced. “Ye may wanna show 'im a wee more respect ‘less ye got some guts left in ye to continue...”

At first, having been stupified by the crow’s sudden outburst, the rebel had kept staring at him with widened eyes and a slightly unhinged mouth. Now, when the initial shock had swiftly faded from his face as the crow talks again, he frowns at Gizmo and raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “Jeez, Gizmo, I was just messin’ with him. Was recallin’ a fun memory from one of our earlier heists a few years back. Simple as that. Don’t get pissed at me because of it.”

Can’t the toon bird just understand that he’s allowed to mess with Benicio because of their companionable association?

“Well, news flash, Angel-McGee...” A finger shoves itself at the angel’s chest. “Nobody, an’ I mean nobody, laughs at te goddamn boss an’ gets away with it.”

Nothing moves nor another sound was created once his declaration became known.

Even Elymas, who is used to being in the background, listening in on customer’s conversations just in case if anything proceeds to go awry, ceases in his cleaning task to inspect the three toons through narrowed, watchful eyes. Having the patience akin to a three-toed sloth, he’ll wait when the fight breaks out. If anything damage-wise happens to his tavern, a gentleman, such as himself, shall dish out an appropriate consequence.

Benicio shifts his eyes between the angel and bird, gazing at them while unofficially acting as their boundary line. Unbeknownst to them - Elymas amusingly smiles at him from afar, a light-gray blush paints the demon toon’s cheeks. It isn’t out of embarrassment, but out of... Well, he doesn’t exactly know what emotion sparked this reaction out of him, but the mob boss knows that proudness is within the mix.

However, this is becoming a bit awkward too quickly for his liking… Not being the one to get into a quarrel again is sorta nice, but having to be a referee for one isn’t. He’s not great at alleviating arguments, to begin with.

On one hand, the demon feels appreciation, seeing as one of his family members thinks of him that way. Sure, he’s gotten admiration and devotion from before, even though some of the other toons saw him as a joke, but the real gratitude and respect, in his opinion, goes towards those that deserve it. They’re the ones who stalwart their way through life without wanting much given to their name nor boisterously brag about their prolific achievements.

On the other, the angel did have a point when it comes to teasing him, but Benicio doesn’t enjoy having them fighting over it. Being the head of one out of many organized crime syndicates in America, it gets tense and some pleasures had to be taken out for the sake of business affairs. Simultaneously, though, despite his love towards their teasing and the importance of strengthening bonds, there’s no actual rule saying that he couldn’t befriend others while having leisure time if it means that he can get some mutual benefits and connections out of them; though, he tries not to go through the sleazeball route like some would think.

Plus, the expression that the angel gave to the crow made him want to bust out laughing, just to get him back for doing so at his unfortunate hanging.

Either way, both of them have made his night and decision - that being, it’s a good time to intervene before things began to get heated.

Benicio raises both his hands up as a sign of peace, showing an unoffended smile at the crow. He kinda hopes that the expression can allay him, but doesn’t guarantee it. “Uh, Gizmo, ya don’t have to -”

“Not now, Boss!” Gizmo cuts him off, shaking a hand at the demon while not breaking his stare.

Taken aback by the response, Benicio closes his mouth, the rest of the words dying off. Huffing, hidden disappointment manages to escape into his contemplated expression while watching the two toons go through their staring contest. Thinking that they both had too much alcohol, Benicio tenses slightly when Abel’s wings mimic Gizmo’s fists, knowing what’s to come. The mafia boss doesn’t wish for either of them to start breaking out into a fight; however, if one of them so much as launches a fist, then he’ll have to separate them and let them both cool off outside.

As both their boss and companion, he wouldn’t let an argument, nor a brawl, come separate comrades.

He turns to shoot a look at Elymas and the other nods in approval. That gets the demon grinning.

Let’s try this again with a sense of style…

“Boys! Boys! Ya both pretty, but now’s not the time to flip ya wigs!” Benicio’s smoothly cuts into the staredown, his signature grin sweeping in as peace-signaling hands beat the air twice in front of him. “Ya two need to calm down before ya say somethin’ that ya goin’ to regret...” Arms plopping onto his lap, the grin drops to a scowl, and sober eyes shift slowly between the now attentive toons before locking onto them.

The angel and crow gave a glance to each other, a small seedling of dread starting to bloom within their stomachs.

“Before things get dicey, I don’t need to remind ya two ‘bout the third rule of our mafia family...” He lets the sentence pause in the air for a few seconds before continuing. “But... I’m going to anyway.”

Before either of them utters a word, the boss beats them by a yell and slam of a palm to the bar top. Both toons jump from it.

”The third rule is ‘No fightin’ amongst yaselves’!” Benicio lowers his voice to a paternal threatening tone. “An’ if I see one of ya tryin’ to breakin’ the rule again, I can personally promise ya that all hell... will break... loose… Understand me?”

One vigorously nods his head while the other does so with a half-hearted shrug, both of them thinking twice about creating a counterattack. Despite the friendly and jokester-ish aura that Benicio usually wears, it’s best to try not to get on his bad side...

With that out of the way, the grin shoots back onto the demon’s face. “Now then!” Getting rid of the tenseness in the air, Benicio loudly claps before standing up from his seat. “Apologies are in order, guys! I expect them to be done an’ over with before evenin’ tomorrow!” Finger guns are aimed at Gizmo and Abel while speaking. “Not a minute late or, uh...” Hands going up with a shrug, he chuckles ambiently. “Well, not gonna spoil it now, am I?” A teasing wink and a smirk is shot at the two

Abel plays it off with a disbelieving scoff and rolls his eyes at the demon’s comical output. However, a hidden amount of relief somewhat gets him to slacken.

The mob boss then glances over at Gizmo. Said informant straightens up in his seat while looking at him in embarrassment, shame coloring his features due to his sudden outburst.

Benicio casually plops a hand onto the crow’s head, not caring about the argument anymore so long as they’ve apologized. “Thanks for that, pal. Not a lot of toons stick up for me like ya did just now.” And, he honestly means it, gratitude and all.

Gizmo is surprised by this.

“But, ya didn’t have to do that to Abel though. We’re pals, too, so he’s allowed to mess with me an’ I to him.” Giving Gizmo a couple of pats, pie-cut eyes glance over to Abel, a sly expression with an elevated eyebrow slipping onto his face. “An’ Abel? For gettin’ back at ya, how ‘bout the time ya got so piss-poor drunk that ya flew up to the ceilin’ an’ knocked yaself out onto Elymas?”

“Eh…?” Abel’s head tilts over his shoulder, innocent curiosity taking into his features. “How’d ye know that…? I never told ye that...”

Benicio points his thumb over his shoulder. In the background, the barman’s wiping down another booth table. “He did.”

“Ah…” The head tilt rights itself when realization kicks in, making him smile. “Fair enough then.”

“Good.” Benicio swipes his shot glass and finishes it off in one go. A hard clunk comes when it hits against the counter. “Anyway, we agree that ya not flyin’ an’ we’re takin’ my car tomorrow.” The mafia boss declares while smirking. “Done deal; no ifs, an’s, or buts about it!”

Abel minutely gulps at the notion, wings wilting behind him. He hopes to not wind up in the hospital again...

Benicio pivots himself towards the exit. With a gesture of his head, the crow immediately complies and hops off of the stool to walk after him. Doing a 180° head turn, the demon waves a hand at the angel. “See ya tomorrow, Angel Face!” Latching at the doorknob, he swings it wide open like he did earlier. “Don’t be late!” And with that said, the mafia boss leaves the building just as he entered with the informant, leaving Abel drooping in his seat, that dazed gaze following him.

Once the door shuts, the angel takes his glass once more and finishes off the whiskey just as Elymas comes over to wipe down the countertop, the rag hanging off by his side.

“Blimey…” His stupored eyes blink at the doorway, disbelief taking hold of both his face and voice. “If I didn’t know any better,” He turns towards Abel. “I say that you three are becoming quite the close mates, as of late.” The bartender gives the other toon a lax smile while jesting. “In my honest opinion, I believe Benicio’s liking you more than the previous times.”

Abel quietly scoffs, sardonically smirking while waving a hand in the air. "Yeah, yeah, he's been alright...” He leans his back against the counter, still watching the door while muttering. “I mean, even when bein’ around an obnoxious demon for so long, there are still far worse bastards out there than him...”

"I know what you mean…” The bartender then starts wiping down the bar top. “From what I could tell over the years, Benicio can be a tad ignorant sometimes -” A snort cuts him off. “Alright, more than a tad ignorant - but, I daresay, he mostly tries his best to fend those that he cares about.” He stops wiping the rag around and leans an elbow on a dry area. “I don’t have to remind you of his magnanimous generosity and ineptitude for some things. Even I still find those traits a bit too overwhelming at times…”

A soft smile shows on Abel’s face. “I hear that. Doesn’t go all willy-nilly on his spendin’s, yet he’s livin’ it up there ‘n can go all out if he wants to. Can’t deal with children much ‘n doesn’t completely think on what’s gonna happen after he does his antics, yet manages to rally up many of us in a homey package.” He couldn’t keep the slight praise out of his voice.

The angel gets a hum of approval. “That, I can agree upon. At the very least - and I’m not saying this out of sympathy for him - try to give him a chance...” He shoots a meager pointed look. “After that, it’s your call.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice, my friend.” Taking the last inhale off his forgotten cigar - which has become a stump at this point, then extinguishing it in the ashtray, Abel stands up from his stool. His stance wobbles, making him sway a little before rightening himself.

Apparently, a lot of eyebrows have been raised lately. Elymas, adding another into the count, shoots him one that’s laced with concern. “Will you be alright going back home like that?”

Abel just replies with a mumbled ‘Yep’.

And, after they wish each other a goodbye and goodnight, the angel’s decision to walk back home alone is made.

Since his apartment complex is approximately several blocks away from the tavern, he’ll take his time in getting some nice, fresh Spring air. Enjoying the city’s awoken nightlife instead of being driven would do him good until then. Would probably even help with the oncoming hangover tomorrow if the temperature keeps it up. The streets that usually bustle with residential life are quieter than during the daytime; however, the illuminating city lights and colorful neon signs decorating the pathways through Toon Town help make up for that peacefulness.

Quite the enjoyment, if you ask him.

So, while he’s thinking of getting some much-needed sleep once he gets home and opens up his bedroom window to continue feeling the breezy winds, Abel wasn’t ready to smack himself into a street post. A monotonous sound fills the air with its ringing as the rebel stumbles back, his butt landing on the sidewalk. A quiet groan comes out of him while he keels over, having a hand holding onto the spot where his head met metal as the other gave side support. He swears that he can see harps circling above his halo, their strings being pulled and made into a song.

Quickly swatting them away, a glare is sent to the lamp post, both hands now raised into fists. Abel then quickly gets up to lightly kick the bottom, as if it had offended him, before looking around for any eyewitnesses.

Nobody was around at the moment of his distraction, especially not Benicio.

He lets a sigh go. “Shouldn't've had too much…” A weak smirk makes its presence while facepalming. “Damn Devil would’ve had a good laugh if he saw that.” A huff leaves him as he continues walking through the streets.

Rounding the final corner where a bookstore resides, he reaches home in under ten minutes. Across the street occupies a six-floor apartment complex. A pre-war, mid-rise type that takes up the other side’s sidewalk corner, shielded in a brick style with a Renaissance Revival beauty weaved into its structure. Small balconies line themselves up on one side on his far-right while several lights speckle over it. It’s nothing too fancy like the ones within the city or anything; just has the basic, livable attributes to get by on. That’s all he really needs, in his opinion.

Abel’s apartment is located on the 6th and final floor, a half-moon window being one of the indicators. The reason why he favors the level is that the elevator is almost always out of order and nobody can be bothered in climbing up the stairs to get there. Even the sometimes forgetful Landlady doesn’t come up there due to the problems. The bonus in having a balcony with it is that it’s easier for him to get in and out in a more convenient way. Also, he never gets bothered much by anyone other than by a few noisy tenants from two floors down, which can be easily ignored.

So, in other words, he has the floor all to himself. It’s his main sanctuary to this date.

The angel toon faces said balconies, seeing the light-polluted, hazed heavens out of his peripheral vision. A semi-crooked grin adorns his face as both wings stretch themselves widely out. When the wind lightly flutters their feathers, they swing down fast and launch the angel into the air, the wind helping out in the short, brisk travel.

Wings beating a few times, he touches down upon the platform, the Douglas Fir doors leading inside greeting him.

The cartoon angel lightly swings those doors open and enters his darkened apartment, letting them shut themselves back into place. “Aaaaah! Home sweet home!”

Same as he regularly leaves it. The beige carpet covering a part of the wooden floor is a bit crooked for his liking, but he’ll deal with it when he wakes up. Mint-green wallpaper, decorated with thin, vertical pastel yellow borders and white crown molds, surrounds much of the living room and dining area. To his left resides a sitting area, consisting of both a green leather three-seater and chair. They come at a 90° angle, the back of the chair facing the angel and the three-seater looking towards the casement row windows.

In the center of the sitting area resides a simple, oak coffee table while a small, round one stands by the sofa’s right. Besides that, against the left-hand wall stands a mahogany sideboard. Upon it, rests an ordinary lamp and a Philco radio. Often enough, the angel tends to listen to either music or news stations from it. With the heists slightly increasing lately and him being needed by the mob boss, however, he doesn’t do so as much than before.

Towards the left corner of the room stands two doorways. The one next to the sideboard and small table leads to Abel’s bedroom while the other goes towards the bathroom. To the rebel’s front, in-between the bathroom and kitchen entryways is a small dining area. It comprises only a set of four wooden chairs and a similarly-made, dining table. No pictures, no knick-knacks, just those simple commodities within a sparse space.

Finally, towards the angel’s right is none other than the closed front door, which leads into the hallway where both the broken elevator and stairwell reside.

Slipping off his shoes and placing them on the right of the balcony doorway, he walks behind the three-seater to head towards the restroom.

Black and white-tiled flooring, alongside glove white-tiled walls that have a streak of black bullnose ones cutting through the middle, welcomes him when he reaches over to flip the toggle light switch up. A small chill runs up his feet upon entering, eyes squinting through the now seemingly bright enclosure.

The closet-sized bathroom only contained a simple set of necessities for around two people. An ivory sink stands at the left-hand wall, a plain, mirror cabinet hanging above it. The porcelain toilet sits across from the sink, a medium-sized hamper basket being adjacent to its right where it’s close enough to the door. To complete the space, occupying the back is a clawfoot bathtub with the eggshell shower curtain drawn back. A round-headed shower piece and casement window accompanies it, closed white curtains hiding the latter.

Making a short trip to the bedroom, Abel comes back with some folded-up clothes. He sets them down onto the toilet seat and changes out of his civvies, swapping them for a pair of sleepwear that mainly comprises of just an oversized, white t-shirt with a blue cross etched on it and similar-colored sweatpants. After the last garment’s on, the angel glances over at the mirror, seeing his reflection on its surface.

The crooked grin makes its reappearance as he plants a left hand on the sink rim, leaning half his weight on the limb. “Lookin’ pretty good for a drunkard...” He charmingly comments, holding his chin with a finger-gun-esque right hand while absentmindedly inspecting his face from side to side.

A derisive scoff escapes him. Yeah right - as if the careworn, drunk toon staring back at him has anything to say about that.

The rebel angel shakes his head at his mind’s silliness, blaming it on the alcohol and tiredness.

Taking a glance at the window, depending on how he interprets the shadowy brick wall on the other side of the alleyway, it was either still late or too early in the morning. Settling the thought on it being too early, Abel quickly brushes his teeth, then flips down the switch as he exits out of the restroom. Crossing the living room, the rebel angel uses the tip of his foot to correct the crooked rug before heading towards the rotary dial telephone and notebook, checking to see who he needs to call or not later. A certain demon takes a fancy towards calling him at weird or wrong timings, which was getting tiresome.

From the ones that he had managed to write down, there were only several messily written numbers and notes scrawled out. A couple being from Elymas, four by Benicio, and one from the Landlady.

Shrugging, Abel ambles towards his room, seeing as he’ll have to go through them later when he’s not fatigued enough to not fall flat on his face. Turning the brass doorknob, the angel steps into the threshold and lightly shoves the plain wood door close.

Abel had to admit, he had been a bit creative with this one.

Moonlight blooms through the large lunette, casting shadows and silver luminosity in its wake. The light etches the window’s grilles across the spacious bedroom, reaching the angel and near the door where it bathes itself upon his being. Beneath the window, lying upon the floor and wedged within an arch wall is a single bed that’s been shoved against a wooden cornice. An alarm clock and ashtray full of used cigars and ash idly sit on the ornamental molding. A worn, white sheet drapes above the mattress, giving it a tent-esque character while strings of cosy, lambent lights help give off a little more glow and decoration to the area.

If the angel’s lucky enough, Abel thinks as he strolls towards the bed, he may get to gaze at the dark, star-speckled sky again while lying down until his thoughts once more lead him away into dreamland.

Flopping onto the bed, his back hits it first with a single bounce added in before settling. He situates himself into a more comfortable, curled up position on his right side. Amidst him staring through the lunette window while waiting for sleep to come, Abel gets to observe the waning moon high above the buildings and the bright and dim stars that scatter throughout the night sky.

Pretty, little things, they are, despite them being humongous and deadly...

A quick thought passes through his mind, having the angel leaning his upper half with the usage of an arm as support to unlatch the side lock. Pushing the right casement window outward, the breeze invites itself in. As if to thank him for his action, it blows a cool current at his face. Settling back down with a little smile, both feet cover themselves up under the sheet just as his peripheral vision catches sight of the dreamcatcher.

A short turn of his head and upper body has him fully seeing it, his left arm angling across his abdomen.

Moonbeams shine on its creamy hoop surface, blue pearls glittering on spiderwebbing strings like the stars outside. Various feathers that dangle below make minute movements as the dreamcatcher gradually oscillates due to the light currents. He remembers Elymas giving it to him after he had told the demon bartender about the reoccurring nightmares; the same ones that have him being trapped in the studio where he was first created. Since after receiving it, the object has been helping him sleep better through the nights. It wasn’t fully authentic, per se, but it has kept them out of his head for who-knows-how-long, to which he’s still grateful for.

Without knowing how many minutes have passed since he’s been staring at it, the hanging item starts to blur in his vision. Letting his eyelids droop to a close, sleep arrives to envelop him in its comforting embrace.

***

By the time dreamland sends him back to reality, the starry night went away to be replaced by the all-too-soon sunrise.

Soft sunlight shoots through the lunette instead of ethereal moonlight, directing itself and the warmth it provides into the room and onto the drowsy angel’s face. Abel moans from the sudden brightness upon awakening, eyelids scrunching themselves up as his head starts pounding. Ah, there’s the hangover… A wing is used to block all of the light out, letting himself become overshadowed from the new morning’s round until they become well-adjusted enough. In the meantime, the sparkling fireworks are being blinked out of his sight.

A minute or two passes before the wing is removed, the light enveloping him again. Turning his head to the right, the rebel glances at the alarm clock, seeing that its hands read 11 a.m.

“Already...?” The angel groggily inquiries, squinting at the object.

With a slightly exaggerated sigh and a wishful thought to sleep in more flitting through his mind, Abel slowly sits up, both arms giving him leverage against the mattress. He slips his legs out from under the rumpled sheet. Sitting at the edge, he stretches each arm above his head one at a time while yawning in the process. A kink or two somewhere in his neck makes its presence known but his muddled mind doesn’t mind it at the moment.

Sleep slowly seeping away into near wakefulness, the toon gets up and starts ambling across the bedroom, heading out of the door towards the kitchen where he can make a fresh pot of coffee.

Abel wasn’t much of a morning person until he had a cup or two in his system. Between his studio departure, the homeless adventures, and nightmares, he may have been converted into an insomniac during the time. Not really sure how bad it is, per se, but he believes that it isn’t deeply affecting him since he makes sure to sleep as much as possible, even on the busiest of days. Coffee’s been a good helper so far with getting him nearly awake - or so he thinks, so without it, he might not be much of an approachable guy than when he’s half-asleep.

At least, he’s not as bad as Fonzy or Benicio are...

While the coffee maker is doing its thing, he leans back against the counter, his eyes lazily wander across the other small space’s innards. Listing to the left, they take in the dark green bullnose trim that separates the white top from the fern green bottom. The only items over there are a metal sink with the blank wall beside it and a gas cooker. Lastly, in front of him is a turquoise fridge where it faces the double-doored, kelley green bottom cabinets and coffee maker.

Once the machine’s done, a cup is made and is taken away with the angel into the living room. When setting the hot drink on the coffee table, Abel thinks of tuning on some music while he gets ready for the day. Heading to the table, then turning on the radio, pinched fingers rotate the dial through news stations until a song comes through the speaker. One manages to bestow itself as he next messes with the notebook and it was the one melody that he didn’t expect to hear again.

‘We’ll Meet Again’ by Vera Lynn pervades his apartment in an optimistically-soothing, mellifluous ambiance. It gets him to stare at the radio with widen eyes, nostalgia immediately rearing its ugly head out from under many cajoling memories, but he manages to banish the feeling back to wherever it had come from before it completely explodes on him. Lingering in his consciousness, the familiarity from a time when he still lived with Jean, floats unnoticed. However, the inquisitive thought on how his friends and folks, Jean and Joshua, are doing at the moment crosses the rebel’s mind without warning. He gives out wagering hope towards them doing alright in their lives while he’s living through his.

A despondent smile graces Abel’s face as he finishes up on checking through the list. Shooting one last look at the radio, he then heads into the bathroom to get undressed and shower.

Afterward, the showerhead turns off and both knobs shrilly squeak. An arm pops out from behind the curtain, swiftly grabbing the top towel off the sink, then disappears back behind it. The curtain is then pulled back, revealing a half-naked Abel with a towel around his mid-section mindfully stepping out of the bathtub. Really should get a bath mat before he starts slipping… He towels off his dripping being, blow-drys both hair and wings until they’re back to their usual fluffiness, and heads back out to change.

Exiting out, the cartoon angel strolls into his bedroom, then takes out a fresh set of clothes from his closet. Most of the time, he wears a sleeveless blouse with a similar-colored collar and a white cross depicted on it. The blouse came with the same light blue hue as his hair. He then slips on a pair of white pants, following it up with black, leather spectator shoes and completes the ensemble by attaching white spats around his ankles.

Once Abel’s done donning his usual outfit, he takes the used towel off the bed and comes out of the room again to throw it in the hamper. He’ll need to do a bit of laundry later, Abel reminds himself before dropping onto the three-seater. He takes the lukewarm cup of coffee by the handle and takes a drink from it, enjoying the much-needed caffeine as the song ends its melody. A male’s voice then takes its place and begins to speak about some news coverage about a few recent events taking place during the week. Meh, those events aren’t much of a concern to him, so he isn’t up in hearing any more of them.

Deciding to do today’s chores before going to Headquarters, Abel sets his cup down again and begins the first task: Cleansing the apartment. He also changes the station to another while he’s at it.

***

To spare you the boring proceedings: Through the morning until the afternoon, the angel spent the time doing said chores. A half an hour of another break goes by then before he does the errands, taking the ripped piece of paper along the way so he can remember the names and notes.

The first errand on the list was helping out the Landlady with her antique shopping. Let’s just say, it wasn’t fun for him than it was for her. He had to stand to the side while carrying a couple of creepy, frilly-dressed porcelain dolls, waiting on her to get finished as she agonizingly decides on what dish looked better in her cabinet space. The rebel still wonders if he’s getting to be her favorite tormented tenant lately...

The second had Abel flying back to his apartment with a small crate of illegal ink in tow. The reason why he had it was because the bartender wouldn’t be available to give it to Benicio later on in the day, nearly running late in meeting someone only he knew across town. Whoever Elymas was appearing, Abel didn’t question nor asked about it. He just shrugged and told the demon that he’ll get the crate to Headquarters since he’s going there later anyway.

By the time Abel finishes up another errand - within that time, he had called Gizmo to apologize via payphone, the day’s nearing the end of the evening hours. Having to take a rest at a storefront bench, an exhausted Abel watches the setting sun be surrounded in warm colors from the sidewalk, seeing as three-fourths of it is swallowed up by the buildings and horizon line. The remaining light bounces off most business building windows, having him put a hand up like a sports visor to block most of it out.

He honestly wishes for his bed right about now. Had he known about how many toons asked or called him for assistance - mostly just friends and associates, he would’ve spaced them out throughout the week and the next.

However, the life of a mafia member sometimes rears itself in the spotlight - pun intentional.

Taking the note out of his pants pocket and checking it over, Abel’s glad that the last errand of the day involves grocery shopping. He knows a few bodegas near this area of Toon Town - one being where Verna Street is, as he used to go there during his homeless days - but he’ll have to fly to the closest grocer for the rest of the items. If his calculations are right, it’ll take the angel around fifteen minutes to get to and be done with the detour. Then, it’ll take ten more to fly towards the grocery store; if he’s swift enough, that is. Since he doesn’t have anything left on the list, he’ll hopefully be done and be back before heading out again to meet up with Benicio for tonight’s heist.

Sighing out of a mix of resignation and relief, he gets up and lets his wings splay themselves out once, the destination of a grocery store named ‘The Wiggling Pig’ coming into mind.

A little bit later, he’s walking out of the marketplace and going through the parking lot - a few grocery bags being gripped in his hands while the rest is held in a wing. Just when he was nearing the sidewalk, the rebel picks up on a commotion behind him. Turning halfway around, on the left side of the building, an eyebrow is raised when he sees some shadows darting about. A young child’s yelp gets him moving towards them, the bags bouncing by his sides.

When Abel’s head pops out from behind the corner, he witnesses a pre-teen cartoon being bullied by a group of older teenagers. The pre-teen, cowering against the store wall, gets a punch in the face. It elicits a few chuckles out of the teens.

Normally, any other toon would ignore these types of situations and walk away to wherever their destination needs them; however, Abel isn’t that type of cartoon. It reminds him of how the staff members from his old animation studio had treated him. So, to cut it frankly, after he drops off his load at the corner, Abel had no problem whatsoever in frightening the harassing group by forming his wings into giant fists while yelling at them in a sergeant-esque voice. The action, surprisingly, frightens them off, leaving the shaken younger toon behind from where he’s crouched.

The bullied toon doesn’t know what had caused them to run until his bull-horned head swivels to look behind him. The rebel angel has his hand out to him and he takes it, getting up while nervously thanking him with a cheesy grin.

Abel gently places a right hand on the other’s shoulder, having to not lean even a bit forward due to their height differentiations. “Kid, let me tell ye a good piece of advice from when I was around yer age: Start standin’ up for yer-goddamn-self ‘n don’t wait on anybody for their half-ass help.”

The kid’s eyes widen as he spoke.

Abel ignores this as he gestures a splaying left hand towards the exit. “There aren’t always gonna be people or cartoons around to take ye out of yer troublesome situation.” Arms dropping, both hands then settle themselves on his hips, the tenseness from a bit ago ebbing away from both his being and voice. “Unfortunately, though, we’re livin’ in a time where there’s this,” Double sets of fingers perform air-quotes. “‘Everyone for themselves.’ policy hangin’ over our heads.” He shakes his head out of disappointment towards this life’s way of living. “Ye understand what I’m sayin’?”

The toon kid nods in understanding.

It gets Abel to make a crooked smile. “Alright. Now, get goin’ before they come back ‘n pummel ye again.” He places a hand on the kid’s back and, with a gentle shove, encourages him towards the exit. “‘N remember my advice, ye hear?” As another thank you is sent to him, the rebel watches on as the young toon runs off. Abel changes the crooked smile into a softer one once the other’s completely gone. It stays stuck on his face while he retakes the grocery bags and continues his way back home.

By the time the rebel angel flies back to his apartment building and puts away the groceries, a glance at the wall clock shows that it’s close to striking 8:42 p.m.

A sigh escapes his throat. “Crap… I better get goin’ before Benicio blows a fuse on me...”

The rebel angel doesn’t care about the “if it happens” portion honestly. What he does care about is for his eardrums to not ring once the demon greets him upon his arrival. He’ll possibly be running late due to the incident, but if he heads out now and books it to Headquarters, he just might make it there before the sun goes completely out of sight.

With that notion in mind, the cartoon walks out of the kitchen. He then takes the awaited small crate that was left by the left side of the doorway before shoving himself through the double doors. Letting them swing wide open behind him, he steps towards the railing and hops onto it. Just leaning forward gets Abel to fall and swiftly spread his wings out, his grip on the crate secured in both arms.

The assistant wind carries him onward towards Headquarters: Home to the Demon Mafia Family.


	3. The Need for a Speed Demon

Abel has reached his destination.

After touching down on the cracked and time-worn tarmac, he now stands in front of a warehouse. Its location is on the outskirts of Toon Town, miles away from the bustling noises and lingering, curious eyes that the city produces. Coupled with the last ounces of light upon the western horizon, it still gives the area a haunted appearance. The sources of light coming from the telephone pole and lit window didn’t help the image much.

Abel’s long since been used to the scenery, but he doesn’t know whether the shiver that flitters through his body came from within or the wind brushing by him.

Much of Mother Nature’s foliage has taken over the decrepit, wooden exterior, attempting to claim the building as her garden ornament.

Coiling tendrils lace through the wounded cracks and open spaces, crawling over the weathered planks as they try to infiltrate the interior. The overhanging trees form a copse around the building’s perimeter. Several of their limbs scratch their tips across the metal shingles, creating an irritating noise whenever the wind picks up. Tallgrass and weeds blanket much of the ground where birds gather to search for insects, the others singing their melodies from the branches.

Over the years of its deterioration, the once company-owned building became a dumping ground. Having witnessed a couple of incidents involving some murders and a drug bust, it was practically falling apart at the seams when Benicio discovered it.

To shorten the exposition, when the ragtag mafia group was still establishing itself. They’ve worked on refurbishing some interior designated sections of the structure. Of course, Benicio had also called in a small construction team to both assist the group and to hurry the project along. Once that main objective was completed, the outside remained with little to no differences; however, the inside had gotten completely renovated.

The first toon Abel sees upon arrival is a fox, wearing only blue jeans with yellow patches sewn at the kneecaps. He’s leaning against the building with both hands stuffed in the pockets. Usually bare-chested, unless it involves a special occasion, Abel’s gotten used to seeing him with his white-furred chest on full display. As far as the rebel angel knows, the toon’s the only guard who stands next to the entrance. He keeps a watchful eye towards anything or anyone having suspicious motives.

On rare occasions - or, to him, they’re occasional - Abel would see Jack conversing with him. Today must’ve not been one of them.

For some reason, the fox toon kinda reminds him of a cat in that one short he’s seen once, where a suicidal bird was wanting to be eaten by the feline but kept getting declined throughout the short… He mentally shakes the thought out. What a weird comparison.

Abel approaches him after taking several steps away from the path, raising a hand in greeting. “Hey, Fonzy.”

The other toon nods back, a small smile etched on his face. “Nice to see you again, Abel. Still know the password?”

“Uh... It’s  _ Jokes _ this time, right?”

“Correct.” The fox’s smile turns into a genuine one. His white-tipped black tail waves behind him.

The angel does an eye-roll at the result, expressing impassiveness on his face. “Figures… He's gonna change it again, the next time I come back here.”

Fonzy huffs in his quiet chuckling, half-heartedly shrugging at the rhetorical statement. “Afraid so. It is needed.” His right-hand comes out of the pocket to shoot a thumb over his shoulder, pointing it towards the door. “Go ahead; the boss has been expecting you for a while. He’s in his office right now.”

“Thanks.” Giving away a small smile, the angel opens the door and steps in. Before he fully enters, though, Abel leans back to point a finger at the fox. “Oh, ‘n if ye see Jack, tell him that he still owes me 20 bucks when we did that poker night half a month ago.” The cartoon angel doesn’t see the other’s nod after the door closes.

He makes his way inside, finding himself strolling through a long hallway. The walls were a juxtapose of bottom pinewood paneling and top gray drywall. They are parted by a similar wooden border strip.

Abel passes two entryways, the left having a nameplate labeled  _ H.Quarters _ while the right has  _ Garage _ . The first leads to the henchmen's conjoined living room and sleeping quarters; it also comes with a complimentary bathroom at its end. Besides himself, Elymas, Alice, and Boris, most of them make their residence here on the  _ Ground Floor _ , almost in a free-of-charge state. In return for their services, they help out with whatever is needed to be done, whether assisting in large heists or doing simple chores with the Janitor. Within the other - the entrance now distant from the angel - is where Benicio’s vehicle is housed and a set of steps going up to the  _ First Floor _ .

We’ll get to know about that floor later on.

Walking past his right are three similar doors, each nameplate sporting a different title.

The second entryway being passed next goes to the  _ Restroom _ , where some things are seldomly better left unsaid. The only detail he could hint about the space is: It holds some hilarious and embarrassing moments within its walls.

The third to drift by him belongs to the  _ Conference Room _ , where Benicio’s family and other mafia family members discuss business matters, debrief each other on particular objectives, and other such important contents. Solo and multi-member missions are also carried in and out here, along with consultations being made before getting approved with the boss’s consent. The one leading it has to go through the boss first, of course, unless he’s included in the operation. Conjoint missions go through both boss’ approvals if the selected families are dealing with the same objective and/or persons in their cases.

An example referring to the representatives in Jonathan's mafia family. They, and sometimes even Jonathan himself, come in for a few months at a time on various days since both families tend to work together if they come across each other’s paths.

The last entryway being passed by before making to the end goes to the  _ Waiting Room _ that then leads into the minute  _ Infirmary _ . Although he hasn't met them yet, other than occasionally hearing their names, a doctor going by the name of Luna and her assistant nurse practitioner, Deeralyn, operate there. Although Luna, from what he has been told by Benicio, is not authentically full-fledged, mind you, but she is coming close enough to become one. Deeralyn, on the other hand, is a genuine, certified Nurse. They’re currently the only duo in the group that has extensive knowledge in the medical field so far.

Fortunately, Abel has never needed to see them in order to receive their treatments. After getting injuries from a mission, he would simply travel to the town’s hospital. It’s not because he doesn’t trust the two and their authenticity; he’s just used to going to Toon Town’s medical facility since his escape from the studio, is all. Of course, working alongside them in at least two or more heists would allow him to evaluate the two better than just coming to Headquarters while they’re not in the same place.

Years ago, back when it was an extra storage area and him going through the beginnings of working with the configuring mafia group, Benicio didn’t have any medical staff on-hand to treat the group of their injuries. A henchman or two knew how to sew ink-solidified skin back together - Benicio included. Another has some knowledge on how to take a bullet out and dress a wound in gauze. In conclusion, other than the three, the group wouldn’t get any further than the basics if their wounds get too serious for them to handle alone.

One of the demon’s reasons for finding someone or more to fit the bill was: ‘ _ If word gets out to the other mafias that one of us winds up in the city’s hospital, especially towards those that’ll use it as a bargaining chip or blackmail, it’d be trouble. We can’t let any important info leaks trace back to us, no matter what!’ _

After hearing that, Abel believed the demon boss to be somewhat paranoid, considering that he’s been going to the hospital for years and hadn’t had anything like his personal information getting out into the public. He went along with the demon’s paranoia way of thinking anyway, just to get the mini-ramble over with and to get back to doing whatever it was that he was doing during the time.

Thinking back for a bit, how ironic that turned out to be. Around a month after the seemingly prophetic dialogue was said, a small team of robbers was apprehended by the police force. They were trying to steal and release an en mass of personal patient information from the aforementioned hospital. However, he couldn’t remember the finer details of the situation; just those pieces that he’d managed to retain from the newspapers. Luckily, what wasn’t included in the whole mess is his documentations; those being in the small percentage that was left unscathed.

A small strip of the next month had gone by when renovating the room during the robbery incident. While the rebuild was happening, Benicio went searching in and out of the New York state for anyone regarding the title of Doctor and/or Practitioner. Days trickled by slowly after the completion until the mob boss had come back to enthusiastically tell the group that he’d finally managed to recruit a couple of new medical personnel.

Sighing out of disapproval, the angel stops in front of the last entry while simultaneously snapping out of his thoughts upon hearing a familiar voice spouting out yells and curses. With an eyebrow raised in inclination, he begins to wonder about what’s getting the demon this riled up in the early part of nightfall. Probably griping on someone through the phone about something or someone again.

_ ‘Maybe his yellin’ will finally awaken those that are asleep...’ _ He mentally quips in sarcasm.

Sometimes, the angel would catch snippets of various conversations through the door before walking into the office - the things about what needs to be done and what not to be done being the most discussed matter. At one point, he nearly got hit in the face by the device thanks to Benicio’s temper. The other even had to get a replacement telephone, having completely busted the previous one against the wall via throwing it, and had to wait until the new one was delivered on their doorstep.

Seeing that the skewed plaque strip entitled  _ Boss’s Office _ at the top hadn’t been corrected yet, he goes to rap his knuckles against the wood when it gets paused by Benicio’s irritated voice. “ _ Bub _ , do ya have earwax in that head of yours?! Say somethin’ that I  _ don’t _ already know!” A pause from the mob boss comes next.

The rebel hears the poor toon on the other end loudly rapid-firing a, rather disappointing, excusable explanation. It’s no use in weaseling yourself out on Benicio.

“Hey, hey, hey! Quit speakin’ for- Ju-Just shut the hell up for a second, will ya?!” The voice shuts up immediately. The angel can imagine a jeering frown and narrowed eyes taking place on the other’s features. “ _ Yeesh. _ For a penguin, ya talk too much… Or,  _ squawk _ , I should say.”

Lowering his hand, Abel silently chuckles, crossing his arms while waiting for his turn.

“Now then… Where was I goin’ with this?” A moment passes before the boss speaks again. Dramatic much? “Oh,  _ yeah _ ...  _ Are ya fuckin’ kiddin’ me?! _ ” And there’s the blow-up... “ _ Hell no! _ It’s not worth cuttin’ my tail off on that damn deal!”

The angel’s brows knit themselves. Cutting his tail off? What? What does he mean by that? A few shakes to the head scatters the thought apart and he lets his imaginative left ear get close to the wood.

More prattling comes through the telephone before it gets silenced by the toon boss again. “ _ Look _ , if ya gonna continue spoutin’ malarky an’ bein’ an idiot, then ya can forget the shipment agreement! Tell that head honcho of ya’s that I’ll be lookin’ somewhere else for it!”

A loud clack and ring can be heard next, followed by low grumbling and a sprinkle of continued curses. Abel can imagine the other shaking his head and being done with talking to idiots for the day, adopting an irritated expression. He makes out several insults and something about the demon planning on getting himself a new target to practice on. An eye-roll is delivered before the angel gives a few loud raps to the office door, dispelling the demon’s voice to a quiet, inquired hum.

“Oh! U-Uh, I’ll be right with ya! Just a sec!” There’s rustling coming through, flapping bouncing about, and a couple of squeals that lead to metallic bangs came along with the entourage of noises. Abel questions further about the happenings inside the room. Scuffling from shoes rush towards the entrance and the doorway swings inwardly to reveal the demon himself.

Both of them wear shocked expressions for a moment before recognition settles into Benicio’s, the head of the mob’s breaths coming and going in nearly undetectable pants. “Ah, Angel Face! Just in time!” A grin widens on his face while his hands splayed out in a welcoming gesture, excitement bubbling through the surface of his being. He beckons him in. “Come in! Come in! We gotta get down to business before daylight breaks out on us!”

Before he expects it, Abel’s right wrist gets nabbed and then tugged on, sending him into the office with a  _ ‘Wah!’ _ accompanying the transition. The doorway slams shut once the angel’s through and he wobbles a little on his feet before correcting his posture.

The detail that his eyes initially take in is the darkness shrouding within the room’s proximity, which began to weird him out. The last time the rebel was in here - by his speculations, it could’ve been during a heist that took weeks ago, this was well-lit by fluorescent lights. Not even the moonlight coming from the two windows can get rid of its lingering presence, their curtains and shutter blinds having been drawn apart, by the looks of it.

How does Benicio stand staying in this sort of environment? ... On second thought, he doesn’t want to voice this question aloud just yet, deciding that it’ll be saved for another time.

Where he stands now is in-between two armchairs for when clients come in, his front blocked by Benicio’s oak desk. The angel watches as the demon boss rounds the left side of the furniture and takes his seat in his leather swivel chair. The object shouts out a clacking note. He retakes the lit cigarette from its ashtray and draws in smoke, looking like a chimney when the haze slithers through his teeth after being taken in.

Abel takes a glimpse at what’s on the surface of the desk, seeing the furnishing in its usually littered, methodical mess. Papers are strewn about, either layering each other at different angles or stuck together by staples and paper clips. He couldn’t make out much of their contents from his position. A black, articulating-arm desk lamp sits at one of the corners, its head hung above a sprawled out blueprint that details the path towards the storage space, and the clear tape kept the print still and open on any available cleared surface. Was it necessary to have that much tape...?

“So, this is all it?” Abel points at the design while asking, taking in much of the upside-down details as he could.

The cig is put back into the tray. “Yep! Had double-checked through all the things needed for the trip before ya got here. Hadn’t left anythin’ out yet.”

Abel gives him a blank look. “Like that time ye forgot the hacksaw ‘n lockpick kit while we were caged up by that tiger guy ‘n his cronies?”

Benicio rolls his eyes in mild exasperation, then bobs his head from side to side. “Yes _ , I damn well forgot the hacksaw, along with the lockpick kit,  _ Angel _. Don’t remind me. _ ”

The rebel smirks, amusement coloring his chuckling. “Jus’ checkin’.”

He sets a comical squint on the other toon. “Jeez, ya guys’ like to blame me for my forgetfulness, don’t ya?”

Abel casually shrugs. “Eh, it sometimes becomes a pastime when some of us have a day off from work.”

“Oh, haha,  _ hilarious _ …” Sarcasm drips on his tongue before the mafia toon sighs. He rolls his chair closer to get a better look at the diagram. “ _ Anyway _ , let’s go over the plan one more time.”

He begins relaying the scheme to Abel as his pointer finger skitters across the blueprint from one spot to the next to indicate the specific details. Abel would nod and shake his head at different times and include his conjectures into Benicio’s decisions. When possible outcomes pop up, they could either lead the duo home-free or in a pickle, so contingencies involving alternative routes come into play.

“... An’, if we’re lucky enough to get through this unnoticed, we could snag some smaller crates an’ pack ‘em into the backseat. That is if there’s no time or no more room left available in the drunk.” The mafia boss looks up expectedly at the rebel angel, using his crossed arms as support. “Well, that’s it. Ya are all caught up. If this goes well, we’ll be hittin’ it big again.”

“Emphasis on ‘ _ If this goes well _ ’...” The angel toon repositions his chin on his palm.

“ _ And _ , there it is! Was waitin’ for that pessimism of ya’s to show up!” Benicio quips, wearing a toothy grin. He then stood up and stretching his limbs over his head. “So, ya got everythin’ ya need?” They drop down with a swing. “If not, the night’s not gonna get any younger for us.”

Abel casually smiles and takes out his brass knuckles, which has gotten them out of tight spots multiple times before, from hammerspace. “Been ready since I got here. Ye ain’t ready yerself?”

Again, with the eye-rolling, but the mafia toon’s earlier mood had been lulled from the anticipation. “Looks like we’re all set then.” He shoots back a grin, then gets a head start to the exit. “Let’s get goin’.”

One stroll through the corridor and a couple of steps into the last room on their left later, the duo find themselves within the  _ Garage _ .

A bookshelf faces the back of the room, its contents mostly regarding vehicle repairs and instruction manuals. From the bookshelf’s left are a few crates stacked up in a corner. From their left are a couple more situating in another corner. The elongated window - their blinds down - separates the two in the middle of the boxes. Two metal shelves hang across the opposite wall on the toons’ right, each one possessing various tools and weapons that either are in need of fixing up or usage. An oriented strand table snuggles up beneath these shelves. Benicio’s car, a 1946 Alfa Romeo Freccia d'Oro (Golden Arrow), is in the center of it all, though it leaves enough space on its right for other parked vehicles to occupy.

Both toons enter the vehicle. Before the mafia boss has the chance to insert the key into the lock cylinder, Abel already dons his seatbelt. One hand tightly grips the door handle and the other does the same on the seatbelt. Benicio sees this out of the corner of his eye, the item simultaneously slipping into its designated slot, and he snickers at the angel’s anticipatory readiness.

Looking over, Abel raised an eyebrow at him in dry abashment. “What? I'm not takin’ any chances of me dyin’ while ye at the wheel again.” He gets another chuckle and the rebel doesn’t nearly catch the subtle teasing note embedded under the demon’s hilarity.

“Heh, alrighty. Then, I'm sure ya won’t mind me tryin’ out this  _ new, experimental engine _ I had installed beforehand.” The mafia head nonchalantly continues poking fun at the rebel’s reluctance. A couple of pats on the wheel were given. “It’ll make my car go  _ just a little bit faster _ …  _ Like this! _ ” And, as he spoke, the engine ignites by a simple key turn. You know, for shits and giggles!

Letting out a few initial revs, the machine comes to life at its command.

Abel jumps at the sudden noise and vibrations, letting out a surprised squeak. He immediately grabs hold of his seat with both tense hands. In seconds, his pie-cut eyes turn white and wide like dinner plates. “ _ Nu-uh!  _ Ye fuckin’ with me _ , ain’t ye,  _ Demon?! _ Tell me that ye fuckin’ kiddin’! _ ” Even his entire face looks as if it had been drained of ink, perfectly capturing the incredulousness.

Everything about him went rigid, statue-like even, looking like if Diana went mayhem on a tornado with smeared make-up on her face. The halo dribbles down until it touches his hair, luminescence favoring a candle wax light. Angelic feathers puff out in a ruffled manner. The rushing, foreboding illusions swirling more violently than a thunderstorm isn’t helping him calm down.

Benicio’s laughter bursts out at the instant reaction, slapping a hand at his forehead as his back hits the driver’s door.

With anger drowning the fear and swelling in his chest, showing itself in a form of deep gray blush, the angel starts beating his fists at Benicio’s flimsy arm blockade. “ _ It ain’t funny _ ,  _ ye damn idjit! _ ”

As one arm continues blocking, the other hand quickly turns the engine off. Benicio tries - and ultimately fails - to find his bearings through the comical onslaught of limbs. Several hearty chuckles and wheezes manage to slip from him before he spoke “ _ R-Relax _ , Cherub!  _ Hahaha! _ I'm kiddin’,  _ I’m kiddin’! _ ”

One last punch strikes him at the shoulder before the limbs fully stop their waylaying.

Benicio couldn’t wipe the grin off his face, even if he wanted it to. An invisible eyebrow nocks up when the mafia boss takes in the fuming toon’s appearance. “What? Did ya  _ really _ think I’d activate it so soon? I only use it when we’re in a bind or when emergencies come up.” He flashes him an innocent grin.

The rebel stays silent, brewing anger still swimming in his eyes and the blush stuck on his cheeks - the grin only adding fuel to the fire. He’s looking like a chicken that had just gotten a rude awakening. It elicits more giggles out of the boss.

Just as the other toon begins to calm down, Benicio, shifting into a more serious expression, points at a small, navy blue rectangle on the left side of the radio. “But, no - seriously, though. Don’t touch that button right there.”

Uneasiness now hugs Abel’s chest like his wings are doing now, his sight adverting from the dangerous button. Nothing like that should ever exist in this mortal plane, especially when it’s in the hands of a reckless demon bastard.

Another question comes up in mind:  _ How on God’s green earth did the asshole obtain this hazardous thing in the first place? _

You’d think: After all the times he  _ almost _ avoided recking the damn vehicle itself, whether him getting chased by someone or him doing the chasing; crashing into high-rise buildings before finding out about what floor you’re on; running over a couple of babysat kids’ parents and the angel himself, the demon had to have thought twice about upgrading anything with an imaginary lethal warning attached to it. Letting the subject float for a bit, he’ll let this slide for now and, if he remembers, mention this to Benicio once this heist is done.

The angel takes an inaudible gulp, watching in anxious anticipation as the other toon turns the key in the contact once more. The vehicle responds with a gentle, idle purr this time. Abel freezes up from it once more, the sound not helping his nearly settled nerves at all.

The garage door in front of them unfurls above their heads, metallic thudding filling in the background. It reveals Fonzy, with the small remote in hand, casually standing off to the side and the path connecting to their destination beside him. As soon as the way has completely been opened to them, in a blink of an eye, the vehicle rockets out of the structure. The machine’s billowing roar, coupled with its squealing tires, voices its freedom.

The fox had jumped out of the way in time, having been shielding his eyes from the flying dust as the car sped off. When uncovering them, Fonzy spots the tire markings snaking across the tarmac before having them look upward. He watches as the last of the headlights disappear through the darkness, watches on as the road leads them into a larger section of forest that almost hugs the part of the city’s border and flares out to the northwest.

***

“OH, SWEET, MERCIFUL, FUCKIN’ GOD!” The angel screams from the top of his lungs. He’s thankful for his wings blocking his view from the windshield as he would’ve possibly become nauseated if they weren’t.

Abel’s grip on the seat intensifies. His back went so far into the cushion from the force pressing against him that it could create an instant self-mold. His wings had enclosed over him as soon as they had hit the road, covering his head whenever the machine comes into contact with bumps and potholes.

The cartoon demon beams, side glancing at him for a split second, before turning back to the road. “NOT IN MY DAMN CAR, HE’S NOT!” He cries out an adrenaline-induced whoop, followed by maniacal laughter.

And while the car rips through the road at a bountiful speed that would have gotten the cops immediately on their asses if found, the scenery blurring past them in darker and lighter shades, Abel wonders if he had made the mistake of joining in Benicio’s heist tonight. He would’ve used his wings - a safer way of transportation, in his opinion - than ride in this conglomerate mash of metal that could very well become their coffin if it crashes into something. The flight would’ve also slowed their traveling as well, but it’d be worth not going to Death’s door.

But no, the damn demon didn’t want any of it. Didn’t want safety, didn’t need anything slowing their progress, just the need for speed is all it takes. His recklessness will get him killed one day if he keeps this up.

As tired as his body felt since this morning, mind racing like the car itself in various sentences in part by the sudden boost of fear-invoked adrenaline, the rebel may have been glad to earn this small amount of rest before they reach their target.

That is if he could stop wailing his lungs out before they give out on him.

The cartoon angel’s cries were carried throughout the entire journey. Whether if he remembers blackening out or simply closing his eyes during it, he couldn’t say.

What he does know is, somewhere down the line, the vehicle comes to a slow crawl on the side of the road before doing a u-turn. It parks itself next to a grassy pathway with a forest green metal gate flanking its right. A secondary route across the road mimics this, except representing as a dirt version that cuts through a gate-less wooden fence. ‘ _ Looks like we’ve reached the machine shed.’ _ , he muses. Abel guesses that having the vehicle facing the same way to headquarters makes for an easier escape.

The rebel parts his quivering wings a bit. He watches the headlights blink out into the darkness, hearing the engine murmuring instead of roaring in the background. Just as the toon was widening them further, a hand touches his left-wing. Even though he identifies the hand belonging to Benicio, besides the fact that he’s the only other toon in here, it still sparks fright within his heart and seizes his lungs.

A few seconds is all it takes for Abel to open the car door and bolt out of the car, barely hearing an “oomph!” on his way out. His left shoulder hits the pavement first as he tumbles out, wings stretching out to vainly stabilize himself. Every part of his body shook as if winter had ahold of him. The late spring’s coming breeze doesn’t reassure the rebel angel. The engine settles down to an idle slumber, keys letting out a couple of metallic tinkles while the other car door slams shut.

Footsteps jog around the front, scuffing noises come his way. The angel tilts his head up just in time to see Benicio take a knee in front of him. “Hey, ya gonna be alright, Abel...?” Voice earnest in quiet concern, he delicately places a hand on the angel’s mildly sore shoulder, getting a small flinch in return. The demon toon quickly takes it off. “Uh... sorry.” He utters out lamely before laying his hand on the other’s back.

“Y-Yeah…” A inhale is taken; his body shakes lightly when it escapes. “Yeah, w-why wouldn’t I be a-alright...?” Abel answers back in a hoarse voice, raising himself from his hands and knees to a sitting position. Dribbles of ink have managed to slide down his face.

A mischievous, sanguine grin adorns the mob boss’s face. “ _ Well _ , ya were screamin’ the entire way...  _ Probably _ blacked out at some point when I took a glance at ya - ya were slumpin’ in your seat like a ragdoll, by the way. Ya also practically jumped out of the car after it stopped, an’ had hit me in the face with one of ya wings on the way out, so... just checkin’ to make sure.” He gives a couple of pats between the shoulders.

The cartoon angel shoots a drooping, deadpan glare at the mob boss. “Great… As if  _ that _ wasn’t embarrassin’ enough…”

Benicio doesn’t comment on that.

His viewpoint shifts to the roadway. “J-Just give me a minute then.”

And so, the boss lets him. In the meantime, he gets to his feet and takes his hand off the angel. As he waits for Abel to recuperate and regain his composure, Benicio leans against the side of the vehicle. Folding his arms over his chest, he looks up to the night sky and its cloud companions, seeing that the tufts are moving at a gradual rate. Tonight’s moon is in its crescent phase, yet its luminescence shines as bright as its full state. A cloud and its wispy comrade pass the natural satellite. An owl hoots in the distance before flying over the toons’ heads.

It’s such a pretty night despite the potential racket they’ll be making...

Hearing movement on his right, the mafia head turns his sight towards Abel, who is getting up off the ground and dusting himself off. Watching him turn around, the angel ambles up to Benicio until he stands in front of him, face set in a sober tone. He returns it with a simple smile. “Feelin’ better now?”

The rebel tersely pokes his index finger to the demon’s chest. “ _ Next time _ , we’re flyin’.” The cartoon angel swivels on his heel after saying that, stomping across the road towards the designated building’s dusty route.

“I’ll take that as a ‘Yes’…” He mutters. Jeez, and he thought he was bad enough when utilizing alternative transportation methods... Despite blanching at the thought of flying on the following filch trip, the mob boss forms one of his hands into a beak and mouths the angel's words in a jeering fashion.

Pausing at the entrance, Abel turns his back to it, not hearing the other’s footsteps following him. Upon catching Benicio in the mock act, he’s unamused by it. “Really…?” Receiving the demon’s grin and wave, the toon rebel does an eye roll. “Ye comin’ or what, Hotshot?! Like ye said earlier:  _ We don’t have all night _ !”

Having been busted, the demon instantaneously drops his hand to his side. “Wait! Hang on! I forgot to grab somethin’!” Quickly jogging to the left of the backseat, Benicio opens the door, grabbing the aforementioned item out from beneath the seat before shutting it lightly. Next, scampering up to where the angel is at, Benicio joins Abel’s side and wags the piece of metal in the process. “Had to get the crowbar before we went in.”

“Why am I  _ not _ surprised…?” He gets a shrug. Before the boss could reply to the rhetorical question, however, Abel swiftly raises a finger. “ _ Don’t _ .”

Now, it’s Benicio’s turn to transfer an unamused glare, his shoulders deflating. “Killjoy.”

Thus, the two toons head to the entrance gate, crossing into their victim’s territory.


End file.
